


In Dreamworlds

by MiniMangoes



Series: The Captain's Journal [8]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types, Original Work
Genre: Summaries taken from Lovecraft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:47:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28099428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiniMangoes/pseuds/MiniMangoes
Summary: A dramedy in parts, whereupon Moira talks with old ghosts and Arthur tries (and fails) to confess his love.I never ask a man what his business is, for it never interests me. What I ask him about are his thoughts and dreams.
Relationships: Moira/Arthur, Original Character(s)/Original Character(s)
Series: The Captain's Journal [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1838770
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	1. Historical (In)Accuracy

In theory, the Was family should be no more. Simon Was is dead, his heart eaten by Ammut and a twisted sense of self. Selma Was is, unfortunately, also dead, burned to ashes by cannons and insanity. Joseph Was, too, is technically dead, drowned in stolen gold and egomania.

The key word here, of course, is “technically.” Joseph Was’ incorporeal form is another story.

Moira ground her teeth as she saw herself (or rather, a bastardized, Shakespearean version of herself) flail about in utter foolishness, simpering away _yet again_ at Arthur and crying for help, as if she were a poor-man’s version of some lowlife hussy. (Shakespeare didn’t even give her, a prostitute’s daughter, the dignity of being a proper hussy! _For shame!)_

“Oh Arthur,” a clearly masculine voice croaked out in a horribly butchered Welsh accent, “I need to pilot a pirate ship, but I don’t even know what a ship _is!_ Oh help me, _strong handsome wonderful Arthur,_ with your _strong powerful arms_ and _knowledge as the real captain -_ ” 

_I only save such compliments for attractive older women,_ she thought sourly. 

“You _must_ tell me, a poor uneducated and uppity woman, what a ship is! Of course, I will do nothing, only stay at your side for _various purposes_ and then be in the way during important ship battles that will put us all in great danger, for there is _no way_ a woman could ever be a captain!”

 _Wow,_ the selkie thought in deadpan. _And I thought I was a bad writer._

“Never fear, some woman who clearly is interested in my material wealth and nothing more,” a frail old man squeaked out, “I, Captain Arthur, will _clearly_ protect you from the world, because women needed to be protected first and foremost. After all, there is _no way_ a first-mate would _ever_ take advantage of the captain to gain power and have the upper hand, so your subservient position is totally normal.”

Moira frowned. _First mates gaining power - ?_ Unconsciously, her mind shifted to the _Mariner’s Revenge_ ’s current white-beareded first mate.

“You know, I’m a bit insulted that I’m no longer your first choice for white-beareded first mates,” an awfully familiar voice called out behind her. “Especially since I did exactly what this flaccid version of yourself could never do.”

“Shut it, Joseph,” she muttered under breath. “You’re dead.”

“I’m what, now?”

“You’re _dead_ , Joseph,” Moira said with slightly more force. She let out a long exhale, attempting to settle her humors, as Jonthan advised her. _Calm down, Moira_ . She was the captain of a large ship. Joseph Was was dead. She almost died - _because of her former first mate, no don’t think about that -_ but came back. She had a good crew. And she had Arthur, no matter how convoluted her feelings towards him may be. _Breathe_. Everything was alright. She was at peace with her past.

A tiny child ran across the stage, interrupting the selkie’s thoughts. “Hello my name is Hunkle lightless’ness tetanus octopus road and I am literally the child of all things evil, which means I am from Spain. I am three and a half years old but I will cause this world to end with my limpid tears and I cry black liquid because I am Satan’s spawn. And I may or may not be the illegitimate child of Moira and Arthur but that’s for the audience to speculate about,” the child finished breathlessly, bumbling through the script.

Moira glanced over and snorted at Hunkle’s horrified expression. 

A muscled man in an ill-fitting fish-tail leotard hopped across the stage. Pulling out a triangle, he started to violently bang the instrument and rap in dactylic pentameter. “Hello Hunkle lightless’ness tetanus octopus road, I am Zoey and I eat people, yo. My personality trait is that I eat people, yo. In my free time I like to eat people, yo, and in the future I want to eat people, yo.”

“Nice to meet you Zoey, please take over the world with me.”

“Yes, yo, that is most agreeable, yo, I do not care about things other than to eat people, yo. Who else will we recruit, yo, to take over the world, yo.”

Moira’s actor draped himself over Zoey and started to sob dramatically. “I will take over the world with you, because I don’t know better! Arthur will say no, but he will agree, because he is clearly in love with me and I will use that to my advantage! He and the rest of the world will be trapped in my influence and feminine wiles! I will be the next Cassandra! All because the captain foolishly loves his first mate!”

Moira grimaced. _Where did Shakespeare even get all this information from, it’s almost as if -_

“- As if he’s telling the truth. You would be wise to heed it, Moira.” Joseph’s voice laughed. “Look at myself and Simon. You showed us some favoritism, and look at how that ended up? And that’s nothing like your ridiculous infatuation with Arthur. Who says that he won’t take advantage of that? You are, after all, just an _uppity woman_.” Joseph’s voice rang out again.

She grit her teeth and turned around in range, but saw no-one behind her, save for a crowd of poor Londoners. She came face-to-face with a startled bald man.

“Whoa, man,” the middle-aged man said, “I know this play sucks but there’s no reason to take it out on me.” He held out a tomato. “Here, maybe this will make you feel better.”

Moira blinked. _Right_. She wordlessly took the tomato and, without turning around, pitched it towards the stage. The man whistled in appreciation. 

“That’s a good arm you got there. Shame you’re not a man, you could’ve joined a cricket team.” Moira scowled, but said nothing.

When Moira turned back towards the stage, she noted in satisfaction at how stage-Moira’s unpractically-frilly pink dress was now sporting a dark red stain. _And yet…_

* * *

Face contorted in irritated fury, Moira stormed into the Captain’s quarters, Greerax quietly trailing right behind her. Zoe, Dinkleshire, and Hunkle were huddled around a table, observing some map of a location Moira particularly didn’t care about at that moment. Knocking over some stray sheets of paper, she grabbed two bottles of whiskey and tossed a bundle of papers to a startled Zoe. 

“Go over these with Gree, would you? She needs to finish her crewmate onboarding.” Zoe looked down at the papers and frowned.

“Why can’t you do this, Moira? Don’t you usually do this with Neil and Arthur?”

Moira scowled harder. “Dinkleshire is here already, it’s more convenient.” She turned around and strided out the door, waving the bottle in the air. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

Of course, one hour ended up being two, which ended up being four, and before long it was almost midnight. Moira had intended on just going to a couple of bars, just to burn off some steam - but her memory gave way after that, and next thing she knew, the pirate found herself in a small village in the countryside. Moira slumped against the thatched roof of a dilapidated house at the edge of the village, nursing her bottle and staring out into the darkness. Fields of wheat swayed gently in the midnight breeze as the crescent moon provided just enough light to make out a single dirt road. In the distance, a mountain range loomed over the horizon.

The wailing of a baby pierced through the silence, causing Moira to look down. A door creaked open, revealing a young woman in red carrying a brown-haired baby. Rocking the baby back and forth, the woman started to pace around the small front yard, shushing the baby and crooning a gentle Gaelic lullaby. The baby’s wailing gradually died down, leaving only the mother’s off-key, but strangely endearing, song. It was familiar, somehow, but Moira couldn’t figure out why. The selkie closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.

Well, attempted to, anyway.

“I can’t believe a simple play managed to tick you off so much,” a voice snickered next to her. Moira cracked open an eye and groaned, flinging a handful of hay towards the voice.

“I can’t believe your stupid mug isn’t dead yet.”

Joseph smirked. “I’m practically dead.” He flung the hay back towards Moira, who sputtered indignantly. 

“Why are you back, anyway?” she groused, picking hay out of her hair. “I haven't thought of you in _months_.”

Joseph shrugged, his transparent body glimmering in the moonlight. “Beats me. I’m your imagination.” Moira muttered out a curse. “That’s not very helpful, Moira. Aren’t you supposed to be more introspective now? Something about _settling humors?_ ”

Moira rolled onto her back and pointedly stared at the stars. “It’s stupid,” she started, mouth loose from the alcohol and the absurdity of _talking to dead people_ , “you’re dead. I haven’t thought of you in months. And then you come back for no apparent reason -”

“After the bar, when you got blackout drunk and Arthur came to pick you up -”

“ - _As I said_ , for no apparent reason, and now you’re here to annoy me again. Can’t you just fuck off in Davey Jones’ Locker and shut up for once?”

“But then that means we’ll inevitably have to meet in the Locker when you die your own gruesome death, and that wouldn’t be very fun for anyone, won’t it?” Moira held up her middle finger in response but said nothing.

The lullaby had long since stopped, replaced with the faint gust of wind. “Why are you here, anyway?” Moira whispered. “What for?”

Joseph hummed noncommittally. “That’s for you to figure out, not me.”

The sun was starting to rise now, the first rays of dawn climbing over the mountains and filtering through Joseph’s ghostly form. Moira blinked. _Since when did sunrise come so quickly?_

Joseph took one final look around the village. “Huh. Who knew that you had memories of your childhood.” He glanced over his shoulder and shrugged. “Looks like it’s time for you to wake up.”

“What do you mean-”

Moira woke up to blinding sunlight, the unmistakable stench of alley-sewage and blood, a splitting headache, and Arthur’s concerned face. 

“Moira? _Moira!_ There you are!”

Moira closed her eyes and groaned.

* * *

“You know, _Moira_ ,” snapped an irritated Hunkle, “I sure don’t know where Shakespeare got his sources from, but he sure got it right about your _alcoholic tendencies!”_ The changeling started to pace around the room “Where _were_ you last night?”, the changeling added, voice strangely high-pitched and - _nervous?_ “We were looking all over for you!”

“I’ve already almost died once, Kid. I won’t get killed that easily,” said Moira lightly. The captain was in the surgeon’s quarters, lying down in bed and treated for some injuries of mysterious origins. Apparently her attempt at a joke was the wrong thing to say, for Hunkle sharply turned away from Moira with a sniff, tears forming in their - _oh no, is the kid cry-_

“Really, though, you should be more careful Moira.” Zoe added, warily watching Jonathan. The surgeon was wrapping bandages around Moira’s head and abdomen. Moira lifted a bloody hand and winced as pain shot through her ribcage. “Drunkenly climbing onto a roof? In the middle of London? Really, what were you thinking? You were lucky you didn’t snap your spine in half.”

 _Oh._ So _that’s_ what she was doing. “Good thing I’m a rogue,” she weakly responded. Zoe stared Moira down, nonplussed.

“And - and what if someone else found you before us?” Hunkle said weakly, voice shaking slightly. “The public knows about us. They know about you. And you might be portrayed horribly in the play but you’re still England’s greatest public enemy. Who knows what could have happened to you! And- and we wouldn't have even known about it.”

Moira scowled. “Don’t talk about that play.”

“I will talk about the play!”, burst out Hunkle, turning around and facing Moira. A single tear rolled down their cheek. “Because it was that _stupid_ play that caused your _stupid_ ego to _climb the roof of Finde’ house_ and then proceed to _fall off of it!_ You were found in an alleyway, Moira, barely conscious, and you were lucky we - you were lucky we -” 

_Oh_. “Come here, Kid,” motioned Moira. The Kid shuffled close to the bed. Moira laid a hand on their hair and ruffled it affectionately. “I’m sorry for worrying you. I’ll be more careful next time. And thank you, and you too Zoe” she looked at Zoe and nodded, “for finding me.”

Hunkle burst into tears, tackling Moira into a hug. The captain wheezed in pain, but wrapped her arms tight around the shaking child and squeezed back. Zoe, without a moment’s hesitation, wrapped their arms around the two and sang a sea shanty of healing.

A sharp knock at the door interrupted the moment. A sheepish Arthur poked his head through the door. “Am I interrupting a moment?”

Hunkle scowled, but Zoe ushered Arthur in. “No, we were actually going to leave soon. We’ll bring you lunch later, Moira, try not to drink anymore until then.” Moira scrunched up her nose in disdain, but said nothing. Jonathan, too, got up and wordlessly left, much to the confusion of the two remaining pirates.

“So,” Moira started after a particularly painful silence, “I guess I took quite a fall, huh?”

Arthur let out a shaky breath. “Don’t scare me like that again, Moira. You were in pretty bad shape. And muttering something about Joseph, or at least I think it was him, in Gaelic.” He gazed at Moira delicately and tenderly, as if she would shatter upon impact. It was absolutely unbearable, and Moira fought with her entire being not to bask in its warm beam.

“Is everything alright? Bad memories?” Arthur gently asked. He paused, then added, “is it because of the play?”

Moira looked aside and opened her mouth to speak, but barely managed to make up some weak excuses about _blasted playwrights_ and _historical inaccuracy_. From the look of Arthur’s face, she knew he was doubtful.

“Well,” he mumbled out, “I guess you’ll have to show that Shakespeare man just how inaccurate his play was.”

But was it inaccurate? Was it, really?

_When had anyone not strived for glory?_

Joseph had, and so had Simon. And once upon a time, in a faraway mountain village, so had she.

She thought of terrible dialogue, of stubbornly-undying apparitions, of murmured lullabies whispering words of power and glory.

_Why are you here, anyway?_

“Arthur,” she asked quietly, “Why are you here?”

Arthur blinked, then laughed nervously. “What’s that for, Moira?”

“I - just answer the question. Why are you here?”

“Because you’re the Captain.”

“Because you can take advantage of the fact that I like you?”

Blood rushed into Arthur’s ears as static overcame his senses. _What?_

“That you like - advantage - _what?_ ”, he struggled out, “I don’t understand. I’m - I’m here because you’re here.”

“But _why?_ Would you still be here if I were some unnamed ship’s hand?”

“I - _what_ \- of course, I would! What sort of question is that?” Arthur said, increasingly agitated.

“Do you really?” 

Anger and frustration flared up within him. “You - you don’t get it, do you?”

“What don’t I get? That any semblance of positive affirmation, of affection, of captains towards first mates are a weakness? Simon - I mean Jos- _the play_ ,” stuttered Moira, “showed me that bright and clear!”

“Don’t say that!” Arthur cut in abruptly. Understanding dawned on the pirate. _Oh_ . _Oh Moira, your affection is a treasure, never a weakness._ Hope bloomed in his chest. “I’m not like them. You know I would never.”

“Why not?”

“Because - because it’s you. You instead of the captaincy? Always, my lo- I mean Moira.”

Moira beamed, soft and gentle. “Do you mean it?” she asked hesitantly. He nodded, and was rewarded with the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. _Alright then, Arthur_ , _this is your shot. Tell Moira that -_

“So do you - do you - me - I mean - ”

“Yes, Arthur,” Moira said, eyes crinkling with happiness. “You are the most wonderful first mate I could have.”

Arthur’s smile faltered. “What?”

“You really are. If there is one thing the play got right, it’s that.” Moira laughed. “But still, I can’t believe they made me hang all over you like that, like some lovesick puppy. Imagine that! Hah. Never could happen in a million years.”

Arthur nodded mutley. Internally, he held his head in his hands and screamed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The world is indeed comic, but the joke is on mankind._

“Moira. C’mon, please. What’s going on?” Hunkle impatiently cried out. “You’re definitely hiding something!” Moira raised her eyebrows and shrugged. The kid turned and faced the equally nonplussed Zoe, who was busy strumming a zither and composing a tune. “Zoe? Please?” Their round eyes were shining with unshed tears and their bottom lip quivered slightly. Zoe shook her head and made a miming motion of zipping her lips closed.

“Wait a couple of minutes,” said the siren, now strumming a lullaby. “You’ll be allowed in soon.”

“But I want to eat now! I’m hungry!” Hunkle stomped around the entrance to the galley, which was firmly locked. There seemed to be some commotion inside; the deck, however, was dead silent. “We’ve been out here for over 30 minutes now!” They crossed their arms. “Just because you’re my parents, doesn’t mean you can be mean!”

Moira rolled her eyes, silently counting down the seconds. _Any minute now…_ “Oh don’t say that. You’ll eat your words soon.”

“What?”

The galley entrance door was unlocked with a small _click_. Zoe and Moira shared a small smile. 

“Finally!” exclaimed Hinkle, oblivious. "I'm starving. I hope Jimmi made something other than pea gruel today..." They hurriedly pushed open the door, only to suddenly still mid-motion.

The entire galley was filled with people, wearing bright clothes and chattering animatedly. Streamers of all sizes covered the walls and hung from the ceiling, interspersed with colorful balloons and a large box-like contraption filled with candies. The room was lit up by some small glowing orbs suspended in midair (how Darra managed to do it, Moira had no idea), and small party games lined the walls. On the table was a small pile of presents, a large navy blanket, and in the middle of it all, a white three-tiered cake. A little black octopus was daintily placed on top of the cake.

Hunkle blinked owlishly as Moira shepherded them into a chair in front of the cake. Ophelia draped a velvet sash on the child, and Rachel placed a large cone-shaped hat on their head. Tofu eagerly jumped up into their lap and curled up into a ball, looking expectantly at the cake. Mike, Keel, and Avi Colon gathered behind Zoe, brass instruments in hand.

Moria clapped once, and the crowd quieted down. Hunkle looked around the room in confusion and awe. Zoe started to play a melody on the zither, and the whole crew burst out into song.

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Hunkle…” 

* * *

_Of course_ , thought Moira surly, _we can’t even have a party in peace._ The selkie grumbled as she reloaded her crossbow for what seemed to be the millionth time and took aim. The toothbolds in her mouth were losing their minds, most likely because their cake-eating time was unfortunately interrupted by what seemed to be the British.

 _Yeah, me too buddy_ , thought Moira as she released the arrow. _Can’t wait to go back to my cake once this is all over..._

“Cannons incoming! Take cover!” 

_Boom!_ The railing shattered upon impact and caught fire. _Or, maybe not_.

“How much do you think it’ll cost to repair that deck, Moira?” Arthur called out. “Ossian, ropes on starboard!”

Moira smiled, throwing a smoke bomb overboard. She blew a kiss towards Arthur. “If you’ve got time to throw out unnecessary quips, _dearest_ , why don’t you be a better first mate?” She loaded her pistol and shot it once into the air. Almost immediately, the sound of cannonballs and splintering wood echoed into the air. “Reload all cannons! Release the mast on my signal!”

“I know I’m hard to forget, but think you’ve got more pressing matters than thinking about me, love.” Arthur handed some rope to a smiling Moira with a wink. Moira scowled good-naturedly.

A sharp crack reverberated throughout the deck. Oliver Sax’s voice called out from the hull: “Captain! The keel’s been compromised!” As if on cue, the deck started to shake, wobbling precariously. Moira felt a headache starting to form. _And we just finished re-insulating the entire ship!_

“Kid, I could really use some Eldritch Blast right about now,” Moira called out. She ducked, narrowly missing a flaming chunk of wood. “Would be nice if we could burn up their masts.” _Poor kid,_ _having to deal with this on their birthday? Hopefully this doesn’t negatively influence their humors..._

Arthur stilled. “What are you calling the Kid for, Moira?” he asked nervously. 

Glass suddenly rained from the sky. _Shrapnel. Shit_ . Ignoring Arthur, Moira cursed loudly and looked around wildly. “Kid! Hunkle?” No response. A strange sense of terror loomed over Moira. “ _Kid?_ ”

“They’re not here, you know.” Jonathan’s ghostly form called out. A piece of shrapnel sliced through his skull. Moira ignored him, quickly barking out some orders. “They haven’t been here for a while.”

Moir turned around and jabbed a finger into his chest. “What do you mean, not here?” the selkie ground out. Her finger went right through the smiling apparition.

Arthur punched Moira’s shoulder. “Concentrate, love, we’re in battle.”

Joseph let out a sneer, tilting his head towards Arthur. “Why do you think, Moira? _Moira?_ ”

_“Moira!”_

Moira’s eyes flung open, breath coming out in ragged gasps. The captain’s quarters were quiet, save for the ever-constant rumble of the ocean. Rubbing her eyes with the canvas bedsheet, the selkie sat up and looked around in paranoia. “Where’s Jonathan?”

“Moira?” Zoe’s concerned face came into view. “Are you ok? You look like you’re hungover, but I know you barely had anything to drink at the party.” She stared into Moira’s eyes, brows furrowed in concern. “Are you having those dreams again? You were shouting the Kid’s name in your sleep.”

Moira slowly blinked in confusion. “The...the Kid, are they alright?”

Zoe pointed at a hammock, wherein a sleeping Hunkle was curled up around a gold-and-navy down quilt - the newly-dubbed “alchemy blanket” that was a gift from Moira and Zoe. The quilt’s gold lettering, covered in undecipherable symbols, gleamed in the moonlight. Streamers and confetti were tangled in the child’s hair, and they were mumbling softly in their sleep (that, had Moira been closer, would have recognized to be Hunkle’s birthday hymn composed by Zoe), but otherwise seemed fine. Zoe turned back towards Moira and raised an eyebrow. “They’re here. Worn out, probably, but it’s their birthday, we’ll give them tomorrow off. What’s going on, Moira? Are you alright?”

“It’s - it’s nothing. Just go back to sleep.”

Zoe looked doubtful, but it seemed like the pull of sleep was stronger, as with a yawn and a quick “if you say so,” the siren turned around and went back to sleep.

With a yawn of her own, Moira lied back down on the cot and drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Moira looked at the cards in her hand. _Just a two pair. Damn_ . She sighed dramatically and furrowed her brow. Across the table, Hunkle raised an eyebrow in question. _What’s with that poker face, Moira?,_ it seemed to say. 

Hunkle was here, in person, playing poker and looking guiltless for someone who skipped work for the fifth day in a row for “birthday-related reasons.” _And yet_ …

Moira threw her cards down on the table and leaned back, crossing her arms behind her head. “Hey!” Hunkle protested. “Be careful! These are my deck of cards, I got them for my birthday!” 

“Yes, yes, I know, I got them for you.” Moira said, neatly organizing the cards into a small deck. She paused, debating or not to say the words. _Oh what the hell_ … 

“You don’t like Arthur, do you.”

Hunkle choked on air. “Where did _that_ come from?” The changeling looked at the cards in suspicion. “Don’t tell me you gave me an old deck of Arthur’s.”

Moira snorted. “No, we keep those between us.” Hunkle mimed a gagging motion and covered their ears. 

“I didn’t really need to know that,” they muttered. “Now I don’t want to touch these cards.” 

The selkie smiled. “And give up your birthday gift? Who are you and what have you done to my child?” 

Hunkle made a face. “I’ll make sure to hold back on Eldritch Blasts next time, since I’m not your kid.”

Moira’s grin quickly disappeared at the unintentional reminder of last night’s dream.

“Does - does it have anything to do with last night?” Hunkle offered. “Zoe told me about it.”

Moira waved her hand. “Don’t worry about that. That’s not your job. Just, what’s the answer?”

Hunkle grimaced. “You know I don’t like him.”

Moira hummed. “Ok,” she said curtly with a nod. She picked up the cards and gently placed them down on the table, face up. “Two pair. What do you have?”

Hunkle blinked in bewilderment. “Wait, that’s it?” They paused, looking at their own cards. “Also, three eights.” Moira wordlessly slid over the stack of hardtack. “No, but really,” Hunkle stuttered out. Moira paused midway through shuffling the cards, raising an eyebrow. “Is that… is that it?”

Moira shrugged in response, dealing out the response. “What else is there to say?”

“I… I thought you would have more pushback.” Moira furrowed her brows good-naturedly, as if to say, _now why would that be?_ The changeling scowled and barreled on. “Oh, come on, Moira. Don’t be like that. You - you love him, don’t you.” Moira’s face flared bright red, but said nothing. 

“See? Exactly. You love him and - and he - and well anyway, I don’t understand why you ask me questions like that, when, when, anyway I know that it’s inevitable anyways, and -” a strange burning sensation welled up in their eyes, and they started blinking rapidly. “And, so, but I said that I don’t like him, and that’s true, and, but that doesn’t mean that -” The changeling rubbed at their eyes. A strange sense of anger bubbled up within them. _Why do you ask, when -_

Moira stared at Hunkle, face open in surprise and understanding. Wordlessly, she pulled her chair right up against the child’s and enveloped the faintly shaking child in a hug.

“Listen, Hunkle. I - I understand where you’re coming from. And I - it makes sense, yeah. Arthur and I - we go back, way back. Before you were even born, probably. And - and yeah. I do love him. It’s true. And - well first off, nothing is going to happen from it, don’t worry (Hunkle frowned at this, but said nothing), but more importantly, even if something _were_ to happen -”

Moira let out a choked sound. “I - don’t worry. Really. I won’t forget about you, ever. You’re my kid and I love you. If I had to choose between him and you, I’d choose you. Everytime.” She squeezed the child tightly. “Everytime, you hear me? You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

Hunkle let out a sniffly laugh. “Even if Arthur proposes tomorrow?”

Moira waved her hand. “I’ll tell him to go swim with Princess Andy’s sharks.” She snorted. “Hah. Imagine that. Arthur, proposing? Never in a million years.”

“But - you never know, it _could_ happen.”

Moira chucked and shook her head. “Now that’s taking it too far, Kid. You’ve already said one untruth today.” She grinned. “Unless you really don’t want these cards anymore?”

* * *

“Listen,” impatiently started Hunkle, slamming a bowl of fish soup onto the table. Arthur looked up from his own lunch and raised an eyebrow. Hunkle sat down with a huff and looked away.

“I don’t like you very much,” they said, “and I think you know that. All you do is encourage her alcoholism.”

That, thought Arthur, was more or less to be expected. He nodded his head. _Although, Moira’s alcoholism isn’t entirely my fault..._

“But,” continued the changeling, “somehow your stupid brain makes Moira happy. So.” They locked eyes with Arthur, eyes black and deathless. Arthur suppressed a shudder. “I guess I’ll tolerate you. She seems to love you, you know.”

Arthur choked on a piece of fish, mind going blank. Face burning red, he barely sputtered out a feeble denial. “You - you don’t know that. She could never.”

Hunkle rolled their eyes, muttering something about _romantically dumb pirates_ , and sighed deeply. “Well, I guess you have to ask her yourself then.”

“But I did,” Arthur coughed out, breathing leveling somewhat. “Last week. After the, um, incident. I - well I - ” he fumbled, face turning even redder. “I guess it didn’t work?”, he trailed off weakly.

“Unfortunately,” Hunkle deadpanned, “your opponent is very dumb.” [1]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] [Source](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_B13yISVHWI)


End file.
